Monday, February 6, 2017

Melange is Almost Here

I
love this one so much…I had actually finished it before Thanksgiving.
Because it was my first time placing a book on pre-order, I didn’t realize that
the release date was pretty much set in stone. I knew that the Amazon frowned
on being late publishing the book, but I hadn’t known that I also wasn’t able
to publish earlier than the designated release date. So, I was stuck with
February 15th. Which is fine. I’m not 100% sure what the pre-release
orders will do for me, but I figured that it will capture those that first read
Menagerie and want to read the sequel. Remember
how we had to wait a year for the next installment of Harry Porter and the
Hunger Games? So glad those days are over…

Lizbet and Declan are on the brink of
their lives. After graduation, Declan plans on leaving for college, but his
world is turned upside down when his grandfather is attacked by wolves. Lizbet
draws upon her ability to communicate with animals to try and find the wolves
responsible, but she soon discovers the wolves have terrifying abilities of
their own, capable of destroying not only Lizbet and Declan’s plans for their
future but also their hearts.

Coyote is
always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry. – Navajo

CHAPTER 1

On the sort of spring evening that
lasts forever, when the sun’s fading into blackness stretches for hours, Declan
tried to convince himself that time really could be harnessed, and the simple
pleasure he found walking beside Lizbet and listening to her laugh would last
as long as they both lived. And yet his errand reminded him that bits and
pieces of life could be fleeting, that nothing lasts forever, and things could
change as quickly as the weather. But fortunately, at that moment, the finicky
Pacific Northwest sky sported a few wispy clouds and a promise of a cool, clear
night.

“Are you sure you want to wait?” Declan
asked.

“What else am I going to do?” Lizbet
asked. “Besides, hanging in a bookstore is one of my favorite things to do.”

“I feel weird having you walk me to my
grandfather’s house.” He skated a glance at her, wondering what his grandfather
would think of Lizbet’s curly hair, elfin features, tiny build, and bright
green eyes. His mom called Lizbet a wild child, which was, given her strange
upbringing, an apt description. “It’s supposed to go the other way, right?”

“What do you mean?” Lizbet turned to
him.

He wanted to kiss her, but after a
quick peek at his grandfather’s imposing brick mansion on the other side of the
long stretch of lawn beyond the wrought-iron gate, he tucked his hands into his
pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her. “I’m the guy,” he said. “I’m
supposed to walk you home.”

“But neither of us are going home. I’m
going to the bookstore, and you’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.”

She placed her hands on his chest to
keep him away. “Yes, you are. We’ve been walking down this street at turtle
speed…”

He wrapped his hands around her wrists,
holding her close. “He’s going to think I’m hitting him up for money.”

“Why do you say that?”

Declan sucked in a breath. “He’s going
to ask about college, so I’ll have to tell him about Duke, and that will lead
to a conversation about money.”

“If I were you, I’d rather talk about
money than your stepfather.”

“True that.” Declan didn’t like to
think of, let alone speak about, his stepfather. Fortunately for him, although
unfortunately for his stepfather’s business, Gaylord Godwin had been missing
for weeks.

“But you’re not your stepfather, and
you don’t have to talk about money. You can steer the conversation in any
direction you wish.”

A rustling in the bushes caught
Declan’s attention. The giant rhododendrons bordering the lawn shivered before
falling still.

Lizbet followed his gaze, her
expression curious and baffled.

“Probably a cat,” Declan said.

Lizbet shook herself and tucked her
hands into her sweater pockets. “I don’t think so… It would have been a really
big cat.”

Lizbet smirked. “I don’t know… This is
a pretty sketchy neighborhood.” She waved at the turn-of-the-last-century
mansions, tree-lined street, and manicured lawns before taking his hand in hers
and squeezing it. “Visiting your grandfather is the kind thing to do. Remember,
this is for him, not you. I’ll be fine and so will you. And more importantly,
so will your grandfather.”

But Declan knew that wasn’t true. The
whole reason he stood on the street outside his grandfather’s house was because
the old man wasn’t fine. His days were numbered. According to his nurse, Frank
Forsythe only continued to live because he was too ornery to die.

“He scares me,” Declan admitted.

“I think you could take him on,” Lizbet
said with a grin.

“Physically, but probably not
intellectually.”

“If he tries to play chess, just run.”
Lizbet put her hands on Declan’s shoulders and turned him so he faced the front
gate.

“That would be cowardly…” Declan
shuffled his feet.

Lizbet gave his back a gentle push.

The bushes shook again and this time
Declan caught sight of an enormous gray tail beating the bright red flowers
before disappearing into the shrubs. “That’s a huge dog.”

“I’m not scared of a dog,” Lizbet
assured him.

“What if my grandfather gets talking
and I can’t get away before the bookstore closes? I can’t leave you in the dark
by yourself while a giant dog runs loose, terrorizing the neighborhood.” Declan
balked at the black wrought-iron gate that separated his grandfather’s house
from the rest of the world.

“For one thing, no one is terrorized.
And another, this is the Pacific Northwest. It’s June, the longest day of the
year is only a few weeks away. We have another two hours, at least, of
daylight. And if your grandfather gets extra chatty, I’ll take a bus home.” She
reached around him and pushed open the gate. “Now, march up to that door and
act chummy. He’s old, he’s sick, and he wants to meet you.”

Declan nodded, and after a quick
backward glance at Lizbet, the girl who had become the center of his world,
headed up the walkway.

#

As much as the bookstore tempted
Lizbet, curiosity made her pause at the edge of Frank Forsythe’s property near
the now-still rhododendrons. Cocking her head, she listened for the dog that
belonged to the great furry tail she’d spotted earlier. She shot Declan a quick
peep. He stood on the porch with his hands shoved into his pockets, his back to
her.

“Hello?” Lizbet whispered into the
bushes. Silence. She scanned the trees lining the property, expecting to catch
the attention of a squirrel or even a bird, but couldn’t find a creature in
sight. A chill crawled down her back. “Hello?” she called a smidge louder.

The bushes rustled again and Lizbet
searched for the cause. A rabbit, a chipmunk, even a skunk—there had to be an
animal around. Why wasn’t anyone responding? She gave the house another glance,
but Declan had disappeared from the porch.

She hadn’t heard the front door open,
but that must have been what had happened. The nurse, Teddy, had been expecting
him. Lizbet let out a little sigh of relief, pulled her sweater a bit tighter,
and headed for the Blarney Bookstore.

The University District was an eclectic
mix of shops catering to the UW’s students, and the historic homes of the
professors and Seattle’s business professionals. Lizbet’s sandals made a
flopping sound as she walked and she told herself that the eerie echo wasn’t in
any way sinister. But goosebumps rose on her skin as she scanned the yards,
trees, and shrubbery for signs of life.

Where was everyone? The only reason she
knew for the animals to desert an area was a forest fire, and the warm humidity
held only a spark of the imagination. Unfortunately, Lizbet’s imagination was
running wild. She tried to rein it in as she headed for the bookstore.

#

When only silence answered the door,
Declan had stepped off the porch to peek in the window. He’d never been inside
his grandfather’s house so he didn’t know what to expect. The Oriental rugs,
wingback chairs, and pastoral paintings didn’t surprise him. The overturned
table, shattered vase, and flowers strewn across the wood floor did. He rapped
on the window. Just like when he’d knocked on the door, no one answered.

He cast another look around for Lizbet
and spotted her at the intersection at the end of the street. Should he call
out to her? What if someone had broken into his grandfather’s home? What if
that someone was still in the house? The farther away Lizbet was, the safer she
was. Squaring his shoulders and refusing to jump to conclusions, Declan jogged
toward the back of the house. A shoulder-high brick wall enclosed the backyard.
When he couldn’t find a gate, he scrambled over the wall and landed hard on his
feet. His breathing accelerated as he picked up his pace. A quick peek in the
windows told him the living and dining room were both empty. A motion–sensor
light flicked on when he reached the patio. Everything in the backyard screamed
quiet and peaceful elegance. It was hard to imagine his grandfather had met any
violence. The windows were intact, but the back door hung ajar.

Declan reached into his pocket and
fingered his phone, debating whether he should call the police. He poked his
head through the door. The kitchen with its tall white cabinetry, scrubbed oak
table, and gleaming stainless-steel appliances looked like it belonged in a
magazine. But a large butcher knife lay on the floor, surrounded by a
smattering of… What was that?

Declan pushed inside for a better look,
then, with trembling fingers, he called his mom.

#

Lizbet finally spotted an owl perched
on a branch of a giant maple tree. It was early for an owl, but that was only
one of the things out of place on this strange evening. Lizbet glanced up and
down the street, making sure that she and the owl were alone. “Where is
everyone?” she asked.

The owl swiveled his head in her
direction and blinked at her. “The wolves
have returned,” he said with a hoot as if this should answer all her
questions.

“The wolves? In the University
District?” Her mind tripped back to the large gray tail she’d spotted in Frank
Forsythe’s rhododendrons. Why would there be wolves close to the city center?
Wolves belonged in the woods or near pastures where the slow and easy prey
lived.

The owl blinked again and nodded.

“All the animals have disappeared
because of the wolves?” Lizbet pressed.

“I
suggest you do the same.”

“Why are you here?”

“I
am a sentinel. We owls have always been so.”

“Admirable,” Lizbet murmured. She
pressed her mouth closed when an elderly couple walking a Standard Poodle
appeared at the end of the street. She watched as the poodle sat down and
refused to budge. The woman tugged on the leash and reprimanded the stubborn
dog. After a moment, the man took the lead, but the dog remained obstinate. The
man pulled, but the poodle sat on his haunches while his collar threatened to
pop off his furry head.

She turned back to the owl. “Do you
know where the wolves are now?”

The owl lifted one wing and pointed at
the Forsythe house.

Lizbet ran and her sandals slapped the
sidewalk.

She stopped short when a giant gray
wolf appeared on the sidewalk. His solid muscles rippled beneath silvery fur.
His broad shoulders were powerful and his flanks sturdy. He lowered his head
and emitted a low growl. “What…who are you?” she asked the wolf.

He didn’t answer but stared at her with
blazing green eyes. It occurred to Lizbet that he was trying to scare her. She
balled her fists and planted them on her hips. “Answer me!” She raised her
voice and tried to infuse it with authority. “Who are you and what do you
want?”

The creature flicked his tail before
turning and sauntering into the shadowy twilight. She stared after him for half
a second before opening the wrought-iron gate, rushing down the walkway,
climbing the steps to the front porch, and rapping on the door.

Declan answered, his face pale.
Silently, he widened the door to let her in. “I thought you were the police.”
His voice wavered.

“Why? What happened?”

Declan nodded over his shoulder. A
newscaster’s voice floated through an open door and light flickered from a TV
screen in a room off the hall.

Lizbet started for it, but Declan put a
warning hand on her arm, stopping her. “Don’t,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, I vomited in
there. And another…”

“Your grandfather?”

“And Teddy, his nurse.”

“Are they dead?” Lizbet whispered,
although she didn’t know why.

“It’s…grizzly.”

Lizbet put her fingers to her lips,
because she knew it wasn’t grizzly—not like a bear—but wolfish, like a giant
gray wolf.